


penelope & jae

by desireeofsunshine



Series: Relations [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, High School, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, New Adult, Original Character(s), sort of slow burn, young adult
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desireeofsunshine/pseuds/desireeofsunshine
Summary: Penelope King has despised Jae Park from themoment he one-upped her at an academic match;no one has ever come close to matching herbrains and when he proves that he has plansto continue doing just that... Well, it sends thefuture valedictorian into a frenzy.That frenzy continues when Penelope winds uptutoring Jae, even though he clearly doesn't need it.Neither is willing to admit who's chasing who, but there'sno denying that their cat and mouse gamecan't continue forever—especially when everyone elseis starting to take notice.Who will concede first and take the last lossbetween these two enemies turned lovers? Orwill neither admit defeat and run the risk of letting the entirething be burnt to the ground?BOOK l
Relationships: Penelope King/Jae Park
Series: Relations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176380





	1. PROLOGUE

JUNIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

"HAVE I EVER TOLD you how much I hate Jae Park?"

"You might've mentioned it a time or two or... twenty," Maisyn, my best (and only) friend confirms, shuffling through the books on the table to find the one she's been keeping count on. My eye twitches as I watch her mark down another tally on her bright yellow binder, finishing up a third set of five lines.

A few weeks ago, I asked her to start keeping track of how often I verbally express my dislike for my nemesis, Jae—one mark for each time I happen to mention him—after he claimed that I talk about him "too much to possibly hate" him. I wanted to prove him wrong but well...

Fifteen times. Fifteen times so far today, Jae Park has gotten under my skin enough for me to complain to Maisyn, and we've only just been dismissed to lunch. Yesterday, I finished out the school day with almost a solid thirty tallies. The day before that, I believe, was even more.

Okay so apparently I talk about him a lot. Doesn't mean that I like him.

Quite the opposite, actually.

I really think the compulsive urge to tear my hair out whenever he's near makes that much clear, but there's no point in trying to explain that to him because there are just some things that lesser minds can't grasp.

But... if only that were true.

Jae Park is, unfortunately, the smartest person I've ever met.

Coming from a family of distinguished, well-educated professors and doctors, I know brains when I see them. And I never saw it in this school—not anything that even came close to competing with me, anyway—until Jae Park moved here at the start of high school. I proudly held the title of the only freshman to ever lead Donover Prep's Academic Team, easily outranking everyone at the matches... until Jae tried out and very nearly beat me.

Not that I'd ever willingly admit that to him. I've always acted like I went easy on him because he was new.

Three years later and he's morphed from a tiny itch I could (for the most part) ignore into a full-blown rash that refuses to be forgotten, fighting me at every chance to get a higher score than me in any possible area or to schmooze more of the teachers with his crooked smile before I have the chance to win them over first. I have to scratch and scratch and scratch because if I don't, he'll win.

"And he cannot win," I mutter, shooting mental daggers at his table.

A member of my family has been valedictorian of this school for three years in a row, not to mention my father and my mother when they were seniors. My older sister, Sutton, is next in line, and I fully plan to continue the legacy after her. I will not let him take that from me.

"Does that count for a tally?"

I turn my glare on Maisyn and she quickly surrenders, faux-innocent expression intact as she fiddles with the ribbon holding her hair back. "Don't shoot the messenger."

"You were asking a question, not delivering a message—hence not a messenger," I correct with my usual bite. Before she can answer, I motion at the huddle of people gathering across the cafeteria, around Jae's table. "What is that? What are those idiots doing now?"

Maisyn squints at whatever Jae's friends are hanging on the wall behind their usual spot close to the doors and when the numb-skulls finally move out of the way, our mouths drop—Maisyn's out of shock and mine? Pure anger.

"Is that—"

"This is so not happening," I snap.

First he wants to best me on an academic level and now this? Oh, I don't think so.

I don't bother asking Maisyn to come with before I march myself in front of Jae's table, arms tightly crossed and lips tightly pursed. Having seen me coming, he easily matches my stance, leaning back against the table with his arms crossed too but that irritatingly crooked grin tugging at his lips because this is the exact outcome he was hoping for: me riled up and him naively believing that he has the upper hand.

But he does not have the upper hand. There's no way he possibly can, not when I've been preparing for this for years.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, jjingjjingi?"

Cue another eye-twitch for the Korean nickname that Google translate so nicely informed me means "girl who whines." I do not whine; I win.

Instead of attempting to strangle the annoying out of him, I offer a small nod at the poster of his face with the words VOTE FOR JAE stamped across the top. "Since when is student council part of your forte, Jae?"

"Since I found out you were running."

"It's going to look real nice on his application for Harvard when he wins," one of Jae's aforementioned numb-skull friends butts in, his chest proudly puffing like he's the one who's planning to attend the prestigious school instead of Jae.

I wonder if he would be so supportive if he knew that Jae was just using him, a means to an end. See, I happen to know for a fact that Jae will never speak to this kid again once we graduate; Jae and I are tragically similar but this is one area where we differ: playing nice to get what we want.

Jae Parks is a master manipulator, complimenting and flirting and dumbing himself down to fit in with anyone who might serve his current purposes well enough. With me, everyone gets the same version—even Maisyn and Sutton. They see the same stone cold, ambitions-driven Penelope that everyone else does.

Jae, however... I don't know that Jae is authentic with anyone. Even himself.

"That's right, Harvard," his "friend" repeats like I'm the ignorant one in this scenario.

Taking a page straight from Jae's playbook, I fake a confused frown. "Harvard? Is that, like... a local community college or something?"

It burrows right under the guy's skin, turning his face beet red as he sputters for a reply, but Jae never stops grinning, never stops watching me with a feline-like attentiveness.

I let the facade drop as I lean in as close as I dare to Jae, my nose nearly touching his, and quietly hiss, "I will not let you take this from me. Mark my words, I will win—no matter what."

"I'm counting on it. Try not to make it too easy, Penelope."

Gritting my teeth, I push my glasses higher up my nose and snatch Jae's fruit smoothie from his table before stomping back to Maisyn who looks just as petrified as she always does when Jae and I go head-to-head. She doesn't like confrontation. It's why I didn't ask her to go with me. She would've full-blown panicked up close because when Jae's around, my normal ice-cold exterior is melted by the scorching hot anger he makes me feel.

I won't burn my dearest friend in the process of trying to incinerate him.

"Do you want to eat somewhere else, Pen?"

I shake my head, downing a giant drink of the smoothie—strawberry kiwi, my favorite. "I won't let him run me out of here. I only have to deal with him for one more year after this. Once I survive senior year, I will never have to see Jae Park again."


	2. ONE

SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

"I HATE YOU, JAE."

The elevator doors ding as they once again open for a floor that neither of us need.

"Only two more to go," he crookedly grins, looking annoyingly smug in his school uniform consisting of black dress pants, oatmeal sweater, and green and black pinstripe blazer—the male equivalent of the female green and black pinstripe pinafore and oatmeal undershirt. Tights are also required of the latter.

Thanks to me taking charge as President of the Student Council last year, Donover Prep now allows their students a fraction of freedom with uniforms: allowing certain accessories, hairstyles, and a variety of shoes that were previously unallowed. I, of course, take full advantage but Jae never bothers because, as he clearly stated as Vice President of the Student Council, "what someone is wearing is inconsequential to how well they perform academically."

The reminder of Jae's need to oppose me at every turn only makes my current predicament more irritating. I glare at him from the corner of my eye, refusing to face him. He cheeses harder, his reflection mirrored perfectly on the shiny metal doors across from us.

"You started this. I wouldn't have pressed all of the floors if you hadn't tried to shut the doors when you saw me coming."

And indeed I had.

I'd seen Jae walk out of the main office, nodding a hello to his friends-of-the-week, and had immediately decided I did not want him in this elevator with me. Seems he didn't have the same idea. He caught sight of me and rushed towards the elevator, despite seeing me desperately pushing the doors-close button a trillion times.

He somehow made it and, like the child he is, proceeded to press the button for every single floor, securing us both in here together for an even longer period of time.

Truly, for someone so smart, he really can be so stupid.

"I started it? Seriously? Are you four years old?"

"Eighteen, if my birth certificate is to be believed."

"You're—" I grit my teeth to stop from saying something less than pleasant because Maisyn thinks I need to work on my temper and Sutton, my traitorous sister, tends to agree with her. Jae would certainly tattle to them if given the chance and I don't need the headache that a tag-team lecture would no doubt provide.

Instead, I squint one eye at Jae's reflection and hold my thumb and index fingers so that they perfectly align with his head.

He frowns like a confused puppy. "What are you... Are you acting like you're crushing my head?"

"Yes. It's very therapeutic."

For some reason, Jae's grin returns. I pinch the air harder but his stupid smile is causing it to have the opposite effect; it's not therapeutic if he enjoys it.

I growl, wishing I could escape him for at least one day. Just one day of blissful peace but he's everywhere, grating on my nerves every chance he gets. And the worst part? He doesn't even have to speak; it's always been his expressions that get under my skin because I know they're not real. Everything is a mask with Jae, an imitation of those around him, and it's hard to break an imitation when he'll just adopt another one with ease.

One more year of torture. I can manage. I can manage because I am in control. I have complete control over myself and that is what matters.

Stiffly crossing my arms, I watch the numbers above the doors count up instead of letting him bait me with another crooked, never-serious grin.

"I'm glad being elected for President of the Student Council two consecutive years hasn't changed you, Penelope."

"And I'm glad I haven't punched your pretty-boy face in and ruined my new manicure yet, but keep talking and we'll see how long that holds true."

"Aw, you're finally admitting that you think my face is pretty, jjingjjingi?"

My eye twitches right as the doors open on the fourth floor and, after a split-second of consideration, I jump out like the metal box is on fire—which it might as well be. Spending any amount of time with Jae is akin to being stuck in one of the nine levels of hell. A personal hell.

"See you soon, Penelope," Jae calls after me and the only reason my eye remains untwitchy is because he doesn't get off the elevator too.

Surprising but since we have a mandatory Student Council meeting later tonight, I guess he's banking that his Let's-Annoy-Penelope-Meter will get full regardless. Did I mention he also got re-elected to be Vice President of the Student Council? And did I mention that I can never get away from him, no matter how desperately I want to?

Jae lives to torment me and, some days, he succeeds. But I will never admit it. And today will not be one of those days.

I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.

I walk the remaining flight of stairs—no easy feat, considering my black heels (allowed at school, again, because I put forth the effort to listen to the student body and their needs regarding expressing themselves in an academic environment)—but when I reach the top floor, my heart rate immediately slows. While not comforted as much as I usually am because I had to deal with Jae Park beforehand, there's something about the library occupying the top two floors of the historical building that always puts me at ease.

Maybe it's the small Starbucks located by the entrance. Maybe it's the towering wooden bookshelves lining the lower level, every other one accented at their ends with white stone busts of infamous alumnus. Maybe it's the few tables occupying the wide aisle between the shelves that are typically littered with laptops and/or open notebooks and tomes from studying students but is noticeably vacant this time of day.

The latter is certainly why I always schedule tutoring sessions between noon and 2:30: peace and quiet while everyone is taking their lunch or finishing up afternoon classes. It's also why I never bother stopping on the first level of the library, normally taking the elevator (or, today walking) straight to the fifth.

No one ever comes up here to the second floor of the library that's separated from the first by a wide mezzanine circling the entire room, interrupted only by two spiral staircases on each side. There's nowhere near as many bookshelves up here and only the more unimportant novels are stored in them because of the tall Victorian beveled windows that line almost the entire upper-level walls. The tables up here are the opposite of the shelves, more of them decorating this space while also being a bit bigger than the ones below. Many leafy plants sit around, on both the floor and the tables.

But—no people. Just the way I like it.

I choose my normal spot, a table sandwiched between two bookshelves but close enough to the windows to have an amazing view of the front courtyard. When I have everything set up for the tutoring session, I check my watch to see that I'm ten minutes early, as per usual. My mind wanders to the looming Student Council meeting.

We—Jae and myself, unfortunately—are supposed to be announcing what student-led activity we want to focus most of our available funding on this year. It would be smarter to offer a unified front to the rest of the council but, naturally, we want two opposing things: helping Donover Prep go more green versus more fundraisers for the athletic teams.

If you can't guess, I'm not the one who cares about whether or not our football team can afford to re-do the field for the fifth year in a row. Neither does Jae but he enjoys being a thorn in my side.

But that's not something I have to deal with until tonight. Right now, I have this brief reprieve that Jae can't take away from me. He would have to be here in order for that to happen.

Footsteps approach and I raise, wiping my dress free of any imperfections and straightening the black ribbon tied loosely but securely around my throat, before turning to greet my tutee. Hand expectantly raised, it falls flat when I see the face that rounds the bookshelves.

"Hello, jjingjjingi. Did you miss me?"


	3. TWO

I ROLL MY EYES. "I'm waiting for my tutee, Jae. I don't have time for this."

Or the patience. I really don't have the patience.

Jae glances behind him, lifts a book from one of the shelves to peer under it, and then proceeds to search his blazer like he's lost something before... pointing at himself. "Oh, yeah. I'm... right here."

"I can see that. I do have two fully functioning eyes."

"I don't know that I'd say fully functioning," he says, raising an eyebrow at my glasses that he knows I can't see without and drops his bag on the table—my table—before rounding me to take a chair on the other side.

I ignore the jab; I've heard too much about my having to wear glasses from my own family to ever be bothered by an outsider pointing it out. I pick up his backpack from the table, holding it straps-facing-forward for him to put back on.

He doesn't budge. No, he instead relaxes into his seat, leaning back and watching me with that stupid crooked grin of his.

I take a deep breath, trying to quell my steadily-rising aggravation, and let the bag drop to the ground with a dull thud so I can plant my hands on my hips. "Why are you here? Seriously, Jae. I know you don't need to be tutored. Actually," I hold up a finger, march to my own bag waiting at a nearby table pushed directly against the windows, and sift through my planner for my saving grace. "You don't even have to say it. The school always gives tutors a slip with the name of who they're supposed to be tutoring before the first session."

I just didn't get a chance to look at it in the elevator due to you being your usual self, I don't bother saying aloud. He's smart enough to connect the dots.

Unfolding the paper, my self-satisfactory smile says it all. Right there, typed in 12 point Times New Roman: NAME OF TUTOR: Penelope King. NAME OF TUTEE: Jae Park.

Jae... Park...

"Well, don't leave me hanging. What does it say, jjingjjingi?"

I couldn't stop my eye twitch even if I wanted to. My fingers crush the paper a little, so I gently refold it and store it back in my folder before I completely wad it up. Keeping my back to him for a moment longer than necessary, I calmly turn and take the seat across from the main cause of all my stress headaches like nothing is wrong. Because nothing is wrong. I am still in control over myself. I'm in control.

Even if Jae did one-up me once again.

"It said Penelope King and Jae Park have a set date at 1:30, didn't it?" he goads. "I mean, that's definitely what mine says."

I don't even look at the half-paper identical to my own that he slides across the table. Every Tuesday and Thursday morning before classes, I schedule and pick up my tutoring assignments; that must've been what I saw him coming out of the main office for before he barged his way onto the elevator with me.

When he refuses to put the slip away, I flick it off the tabletop with a quick brush of my hand.

Fine, then. I may not have looked at the slip—a mistake I will not be making ever again—but I do know that both of my tutoring sessions this week were for Calculus. I can only pray that Thursday's session isn't also with him and tutor him today for what he signed up for.

I grab my Calc textbook that I already had waiting and flip through the pages to turn to the first chapter, but I'm interrupted by Jae reaching across the table and tugging the textbook toward himself. Not so much force to completely yank it out of my hands but enough that I have to put up a good bit of resistance to keep a hold on it.

He leans in when I don't give up. I avoid his gaze until it's nearly impossible, his neck probably hurting from how low he's bending over to try to catch my eye, but I don't care.

Jae got himself into this situation; when you sign up for tutoring, you pick the tutor. He knew good and well what he was doing. He just had to take this one thing away from me because he's a giant pain in my—

I give the textbook a sudden, hard yank, but he's somehow ready for it, holding on tighter as soon as I pull.

"What," I hiss, finally raising my eyes to meet his hooded dark brown stare, "is your problem?"

"You were right."

I nod without even knowing for certain what he's referring to. "Of course. I usually am."

He unerringly continues, his voice a low but confident murmur, "I don't need tutoring. I just wanted it. With you, specifically."

I smile, a cruel, vicious pull of my red-coated lips, and finally get the textbook out of his grasp. "You won't for long, Jae Park."

I'm going to make this next hour so grueling and miserable that he'll rethink ever intruding on this area of my life again because if Jae Parks truly thought he could one-up me? He's in for a hell of a surprise.

+

Jae was actually correct about one thing: he really doesn't need tutoring.

No matter what sort of problem I've thrown at him, he's solved them all with ease. Even the ridiculously advanced ones that I would struggle a bit to get through had I not already known the right answers. He didn't even offer a snide remark about the basic elementary addition and subtraction problems I threw in the mix.

Despite taking everything in stride, there's no denying that Jae does not need tutoring. Which brings me back to the question: why did he bother signing up for it in the first place?

There's no way doing this can in any way benefit him as far as Student Council goes. This is our last year on the council since we're both seniors, so it's not like being tutored is somehow going toward a future campaign. On top of that, this isn't going to make his proposal for all our funding to go to the football team more convincing—if that's still what he's planning to push for this year.

He said he just wanted tutoring. With me.

I don't buy that for a second.

Jae and I are too alike; we always have ulterior motives for every decision we make. And I have no doubts that there's a motive he's not admitting to behind this one too.

I get volunteer hours for college resumes. What about him?

I check my watch, as I've been near-compulsively doing since this session started. Less than two minutes before the scheduled hour is up. I watch the metal hand tick down to thirty seconds before I start gathering my books and pens. Jae doesn't pause, doesn't even glance up despite my chair scraping loudly across the floor because I stand a little too fast to be casual.

The urge to get out of here—far, far away from Jae—so I have time to properly think this through is making me feel off-balance. I need to just... calm down. Stay in control.

Unlike me, Jae gets up so quietly that I can barely make out his shoes crossing the floor with my back to him. I feel, rather than hear, him come up behind me as I'm finishing up putting my things in my bag.

Jae's only slightly taller than me, even with the heels I regularly wear, but it feels like he dwarfs me standing this close. I can feel the warmth from his body. I don't like it, having him this close—having anyone this close—but I refuse to take the one available step closer to the table in front of me. I refuse because it feels too much like giving in, conceding.

I will not—cannot—lose to Jae. Even over something this inane.

"I suppose you should do your job and check over the last of these," Jae sets the sheet he's been working out problems on onto the table, his left arm coming entirely too close to my body as he does, "but we both know they're all correct."

"If you're so confident in your abilities, you won't need to be tutored again." A feeler for whether or not Thursday's session is also with him without outright asking.

He clicks his tongue and—damn him—leans a fraction closer to whisper in my ear, "It's really too bad that I've already scheduled for us to study together again later this week."

I'm ready to bolt, unable to handle feeling his breath on my cheek and his front nearly touching my back, when he completely backs off, walking back to the table we were sitting at before. I collect myself, taking a subtle deep breath and trying to erase the stiffness from my shoulders, before turning to face him.

He's pulling his bag onto one shoulder, my own already sitting comfortably on both of mine along with my purse hanging from one hand. I make to leave without another word, but he calls after me, "Do you need a ride?"

Need. Not want.

It's no secret that I don't have my own car despite my parents buying Sutton her very own dream car her junior year. I've never tried to hide the fact, letting the gossip come and go as quickly as it started. It is, however, a secret as to why. The way Jae worded that might mean...

No, I'm overthinking because I'm already suspicious of his motivations after today. Jae doesn't know more than the average person.

"With you? As if," I bite back after only a moment's hesitation.

I don't bother telling him I'm staying at school until time for the meeting tonight. It's just an hour between now and then and it'll not only give me time to get ahead on my English essay due next, but it'll also excuse me from having to be home for an extra hour. These days, I'll take whatever I can get.

But, alas, Jae is the last person who needs to know that.

I feel Jae's stare on me the entire way to the elevator but refuse to meet it as I climb in and push for the first floor... blessedly alone this time.


	4. THREE

Somehow, Jae beats me to the Student Council meeting. Usually I'm the first one here, long before any others get in... except for Jae who either arrives right as I do or follows a minute or two after me.

But not today. Seems he's got all sorts of surprises up his sleeve recently and I just can't keep myself from asking, "Didn't you leave?"

Read: how did you make it here before I did if you drove home and back while I was in the same building... and came to the meeting ten minutes early?

"No." He doesn't look at me when he says it because he's too busy doodling loopy little flowers on the smartboard. "I don't have a car, so it would've been out of my way to leave before the meeting."

"You... don't have a car?"

"Nope," he shrugs, popping the "p." As if it's really that simple.

"You don't have a car, yet you asked me if I needed a ride?"

"I asked if you needed a ride, yes, but I didn't offer to give you one." Now, he looks at me long enough to add, "You're the one who assumed."

Cue the annoyed eye-twitch.

Then, earlier, as I'd thought, he was either baiting for... something or being a brat for the sake of being a brat. But he doesn't push further. So I don't either. Not now, anyway.

I stalk to the double podium standing proudly at the front of the room. Jae goes back to doodling, this time adding small hearts and stars to his grand masterpiece. Along with... a few Korean words I don't recognize. The same two symbols, over and over and over again.

I pretend I wasn't watching him when he suddenly glances my way, instead busying myself with getting ready for what needs to be discussed tonight. By the time ten minutes are up and the room is gradually filling, my side of the podium is full with my open planner, post-it notes of things to be mentioned neatly sticking out from both halves, and Jae's side is... bare. Only his backpack sits at the base of the wooden structure. 

"At least you were able to put those kindergarten art skills to good use," I say when he finally drags himself over to stand next to me.

"Priorities," he winks with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. I study him for a moment but he crosses his arms, casually leaning forward against his side of the double podium and watching the assembled council talking amongst themselves.

Whatever. This is exactly why I'm President and he's only Vice.

I call for the meeting to start and, for a brief moment, I worry about Jae mentioning what we were doing at school earlier, that he's going to bring those ulterior motives of his to fruition right here. That this is the moment he was specifically waiting for.

But he doesn't say a word about it, to the rest of the council or to me. Not that I need a reminder of the hour I was forced to spend with him but, the longer the meeting goes on without a hitch, the more my worry flips and grows. Him deciding to not make the knowledge public to the others seems even... more suspicious.

As Jae continues explaining the upcoming changes to the offered lunches, I'm consumed with trying to figure out what his plan is. Why wouldn't he bring it up unless he has a reason other than just wanting to be with me? Of course he has another reason. We're certainly not dating in secret or anything ludicrous like that, so him doing this can't be taken as some wildly romantic gesture. Ew. not that I would ever see Jae in any sort of romantic—

"Penelope?" Jae asks and he's looking straight up at me, still relaxing against the podium. And he's not the only one; the entire council is looking to me like they're waiting on me.

"Sorry, repeat that?"

A corner of his lip quirks up but he, thankfully, doesn't call me out on my obvious slip-up. "They're wanting to hear the updates to the vegan and vegetarian meals. You're the one in charge of that, so it'd be best for you to clarify."

I quickly locate my post-it note with the details that I'd prepared for this exact topic, mentally kicking myself for allowing my thoughts to drift off like that. I make a conscious effort to stay focused the remainder of the meeting, something I typically don't struggle with.

"Is there anything else that needs to be brought to attention before we dismiss?" I ask, already closing my planner.

"There is one thing," Oliver, a redhead with circle frames similar to my own, says, raising his hand. I nod a go ahead. "Lexey, as I'm sure you know, has had to step back from all of her extracurriculars because of a family accident."

It's then that I realize we are, in fact, missing one of our eleven other council members. Another mistake I wouldn't usually make.

Maybe I need to get my medication dosage upped. I make a mental note to look into it.

"That includes planning for the upcoming homecoming dance," Oliver continues. "Someone will have to step in for her and take over as the leader of that project."

"I can do it," Jae and I say at precisely the same time.

When he doesn't offer his concession in the tense moments following, I slowly turn to him, tightly crossing my arms and cocking my head to the side. He stands tall to mimic the movement, a strand of his bleached blond hair falling across his forehead as he does. He raises an eyebrow as if he truly believes I'll be the one to back down here.

Without turning back to the podium, I announce, "We'll vote on who gets to take over at the next meeting: Jae or I. Think it over, everyone. Meeting dismissed."

Jae manages to curb his competitive side, so similar to my own, until the room clears, the door clicking shut behind the last one out. "I'm the better choice here. Surely even you can acknowledge that."

"Oh, please," I roll my eyes, grabbing my planner off the podium but—

Jae grabs the other end, pulling on the book enough to pull me closer to him. I immediately stiffen but don't let go; this planner has everything in it, my entire days completely mapped out and scheduled for weeks in advance. The rigid structure makes me feel at ease.

He knows this. He's managed to get ahold of it once and leafed through it expecting to find who knows what, only to give me a strange look before handing it back when he discovered what filled the pages. I'd expected the "stuck up" or "control freak" comments to be nonstop from that point on, but he hasn't brought it up even a single time since then.

I don't risk pulling on it, not wanting to change it being torn apart, but I still ask, "Really, Jae? Back to this?"

"Whatever it takes to make you admit it."

"Admit what?"

"That I'm better suited to lead this homecoming planning."

I barely refrain from another eye roll. "And why is that?" Satire drips from my every word.

"I'm the one trying to help out the football team, not you, Ms. Eco-Friendly. This dance is to help them celebrate their last game of the season. They would want me in charge."

"Well, they're not on the Student Council so it isn't up to them." As if he even gives a rat's ass about the team anyway. Speaking of, "You know, I still haven't quite figured out why that's your pitch as Vice President. Of all the things you could've chosen, you picked... the one area that Donover already goes above and beyond to cater to."

"Maybe it's because I knew how mad it would make you and I've always enjoyed the way your ears turn that cute shade of red when you're angry."

My irritation spikes to an astronomical level but before I have the chance to verbally tear into Jae, he releases my planner. I tuck it tight against my chest, glaring holes directly into the top of his faux-natural blond head. He doesn't mind, dipping to retrieve his bag before casually passing me and heading to the door. He waits until he's almost all the way out to look over his shoulder and crookedly grin.

"Yeah, that exact shade of red right there. See you tomorrow, jjingjjingi."


	5. FOUR

"I—"

"You haaate Jae. Yeah, yeah, we've all gathered that much by now, Penny-Wenny."

I would like to pretend that my twitchy eye acts up at the childish nickname for Penelope Wendolyn but after seventeen years of dealing with Sutton and her affinity for calling me that regardless of where we are or whose presence we're in, it's not among the handful of things my older sister does that phases me anymore.

However, I am still exceedingly riled up from Jae's display of moronity this afternoon so I snap, with a little more bite than necessary, "Why are you here again?"

Sutton pauses mid-chew on the pink Starbursts she's been picking out and eating straight from the bag since Maisyn and I arrived at the house ten minutes ago, the wrappers scattered across the island between us. Mom is at work and Father, for a reason I don't bother inquiring about, is out. But Sutton either saw Maisyn's handed-down Camry pull into the driveway or heard the doors shut because she was already strolling up to the kitchen doorway when we came in.

She leans forward to flick my nose and I swat her away but not before she says, "I do live here, hardass. But I can take a hint. I'll go."

Something in me balks at the idea of Sutton leaving. She went off to college a few months ago and the house is... harder to deal with alone. It was never as bad for her as it was for me, only made harder now that I bear the brunt of it by myself, but she doesn't visit often. She spent the past weekend here for the first time in a month or more but, for some reason, decided to stick around for a few days longer and has been doing her lectures online.

But Maisyn is here now, I remind myself. I'm not alone, and I'm in control. I don't need help because I'm in control. I control myself.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out." My smile feels sharper than usual.

Sutton huffs a laugh and pushes away from the island.

I try not to notice that her usual attire hasn't changed much since she moved most of her stuff into a dorm on campus, since she found the new freedoms that come with a college away from one's hometown: leggings, soft shorts, tank tops, and loose sweatshirts. Today, she has on what appears to be grey sweatpants cut off into shorts and a cropped tie-dye shirt. A vast opposition to my own closet consisting widely of tweed, chiffon, and cashmere.

Father would blow a gasket if I dressed like Sutton. If I acted like Sutton. If I was anything but his desired little princess.

I often wonder if Sutton has ever noticed but her smile is bright as she ruffles Maisyn's hair and says in lieu of goodbye, "Don't let her be too tough on you, Maise."

Maisyn mutters some unintelligible response, but Sutton is already gone. My best friend's stare lingers on the doorway like she secretly wants her to stay as much as I do.

"Pathetic." I shake my head, sweeping the wrappers off of the island's edge and into my awaiting palm.

Maisyn's head twists towards me in record-time, the half of her blonde hair piled high on her head with a floral scrunchy swinging with the movement. Her wide eyes track my every step to the trash can and then back to the island. I take up Sutton's previous spot across from her. 

"When are we going to talk about that?" I nod to the doorway Sutton just walked through so there's no confusion about what I'm referring to.

She doesn't even try to deny it—not that she feasibly could with the blush furiously staining her cheeks. "Never."

"Maisyn, I wouldn't care if you and—"

"Don't change the subject," she interrupts, crossing her arms and leaning back on her barstool, pretending she's not flustered. "We're talking about you and Jae."

I hold up a hand. "First of all, there is no me and Jae. There is me and then there is Jae, separately."

"Run me through it again."

And so, despite knowing what trick Maisyn is trying to pull, I take the bait and explain what happened tonight at the meeting—as I already did twice on the drive from school to here. I finish with, "It's junior year all over again: he's trying to steal any possible position from me that he can."

"Okay," Maisyn starts and the way she says it, like she's verbally edging around my words, lets me know I'm not going to like what's about to come out of her mouth. "Not taking sides here, just playing devil's advocate, but... would it really be so awful if you let him take charge of this one thing?"

"Did you not hear me when I—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Maisyn holds up both hands, trying to placate me. "Hear me out."

She waits until I give a nod. A single chin dip.

"It's not like you genuinely care about homecoming. Actually, I don't think you care about it at all. I mean, you've never mentioned it the past three years and I barely even convinced you to go prom as a junior."

"No, I don't care about homecoming," I concede and she shrugs as if to say, See? But I plow on with, "But it would look great on resumes. And I care about beating him. So that's that."

"Does it have to be a competition?"

"Of course it does, Maisyn." My father's words ring through my head until I'm repeating them aloud. "Everything in this world is a competition. Especially when it comes to him."

"Maybe, but maybe not. Maybe being a senior, getting older, has changed things for him and you're the only one looking at it that way. Is this all he's done recently besides the football thing?"

I can't bring myself to tell her that Jae hasn't brought forth the football field remodel to the Student Council, not since he privately told me that's what he was planning to propose right after we were given our official positions as President and Vice. (But he did dangle his sway with the team over my head tonight so, clearly, there's still a connection between the two.) Nor can I tell her about Jae signing up for tutoring.

I don't want to tell her his reasoning—I just wanted it. With you, specifically—and have her get a crazy idea in her head. All those smutty books Maisyn reads has turned her into quite the hopeless romantic. Her opinion on the matter would be biased.

I also don't tell her about Jae encroaching on my personal space twice in a twenty-four hour period, something he's never done before, for the exact same reason.

But I do feel it's safe enough territory to mention, "He brought up that I don't have a car."

Maisyn tilts her head at me. "Lots of teenagers don't have cars, Pen."

"Not wealthy ones. Not teens who attend Donover. Even you have a car and you're there on scholarship."

The words hang in the air between us. Maisyn pulls her sunglasses from where they were perched on top of her head and fiddles with the arms.

"That's not what I meant. It doesn't matter to me if you can or can't afford the tuition."

Maisyn waves it off and offers a small smile, but I can tell that what I said got to her. My shy, bookworm best friend comes from a very different family than my own: no siblings, two dads who absolutely adore her, 9-5 jobs that support their average lifestyle. Family dinners and hand-me-down cars and scholarships, that's Maisyn's life.

None of that matters to me, none of that changes who Maisyn is, but sometimes my mouth moves too fast for my brain to catch up. Times like now.

"I truly didn't—"

"It's fine," she insists, pushing her glasses back onto her head. "I get what you're saying. Things like that matter and stand out in a school like Donover. But it still doesn't necessarily mean that Jae means anything malicious by pointing it out. I mean, he doesn't even have a car."

"Wait a minute, you knew he didn't have a car?"

"Like I said, things like that do stand out—even if they shouldn't. I used to pass him waiting at the bus stop most afternoons last year." Last year, when Sutton was still at school and I would ride home with her. "Since I take you home first now, it's too for late for me to catch him but I'm sure he still takes the bus because I've never seen him in the school parking lot."

"Me neither."

But I never paid close enough attention to put the pieces together. My fault. I'll have to do better since Jae is obviously being much more diligent than I am. No matter what Maisyn says, I know I need to stay on my toes wherever Jae is concerned. He's my rival, my enemy.

I'll have to do better.


	6. FIVE

Father came in late enough last night that he deemed it unnecessary to give me a run-down of what areas I needed to excel harder at before he slipped into bed alone, Mom stuck at the hospital with a double-shift. It was surprising since Sutton had already left, back to college at the first sign of a go-ahead; usually her being here is the damper for his lectures, another thing that’s signifigantly increased since my sister’s departure. 

My morning, however, has not been as fortunate.

With Mom in bed after getting in so late, Father has enough sense to not raise his voice as he lists my failures over breakfast. Another surprise since he’s already on his third glass of bourbon but, despite what he thinks, I’m smart enough to not point it out. 

“And I received an email about your latest Calculus test,” Father informs me. “A 98, Penelope? Honestly? If that’s the best you can do, you might as well give up on law school now.”

It really is a thorn in my side that Jae completed those problems I gave him with such ease.

Regardless, I respond, “Yes, Father,” and continue cutting up the strawberries for my lunch, sneaking a few every now and then. That’s about as much as I can stomach when I’m stuck alone with my father these days. 

“That makes two 98’s in a row, doesn’t it?” The question is rhetorical, as it always is. Before I can answer, he confirms, “It does. Next thing I’ll be receiving an email on will be you making 89’s. Just leave the entire test blank if you don’t care that much about your future.” 

“Yes, Father.”

“I guess I should be grateful that you didn’t turn out to be a party girl like your sister, but it hardly matters when you won’t put your natural talents to good use. You have to do better, Penelope.”

“Yes, Father.”

He intends to say more but our doorbell interrupts him. “Maisyn?”

Who else would it be at 7:30 in the morning, I want to say and with anyone else, I would. But, instead, I just repeat, “Yes, Father.”

He swallows the last of his drink in one go as I finish packing my lunch. By the time I grab my purse and backpack from my room upstairs, Father’s managed to pull himself up from the kitchen barstool and is waiting for me at the base of the stairs. 

“I’ll walk you to the door. I haven’t seen Maisyn in a while.”

I don’t argue; if I did, it would only solidify his resolve. I definitely inherited my stubborn streak from him. And it’s no problem for Maisyn. My father happens to like her.

Perhaps because he didn’t take part in creating her. Or, maybe, as he once told me, “You should be more like Maisyn, Penelope. I know with that full-ride scholarship she’s scoring better than you on her exams.”

I didn’t remind him then that I met Maisyn through tutoring her in middle school or that we still regularly study together now to ensure she’s able to keep her scholarship, and I don’t remind him now.

He likes Maisyn. He should continue liking her, even if it’s for the wrong reasons. 

Father beats me to the door, pulling it open with the closest thing to a genuine smile that he can give and saying, “Maisyn! So good to see you.”

I, on the other hand, can’t see Maisyn over his shoulder even with my four-inch heels and she’s certainly too small to see me, topping off at all of a solid five feet two inches in the Converse she insists on wearing. But Father doesn’t open the door wider than what it takes to peep his head out, as if he’s already forgotten that Maisyn is here to pick me up. As if he’s forgotten I’m here at all. 

I quietly dig through my purse, knowing he’s too involved with talking about himself to realize what I’m doing, and dig out two of the pills prescribed to keep me focused and calm. Neither of my parents know since I’m eighteen. Mom wouldn’t mind but Father would lose it, likely complaining that I was too stupid to even function correctly without an outside aid. I’ve never attempted to broach the subject, handling it myself right after my birthday instead.

It wouldn’t be worth the headache. Neither is the one I feel coming on now. I swallow the two pills dry—hoping that a second one will cover the issues I’ve been dealing with lately since I wasn’t able to get in touch with my doctor yet to talk about upping the dosage—all before Father finally remembers me and moves out of the way.

Maisyn smiles at me and is stuck talking to my father for another minute before he lets her escape to the car. No goodbye forced for me, probably because he’s too peeved he didn’t get to finish his laundry-list of grievances with me. I’m already inside, going over my day in my planner and wondering if I should go ahead and jot down lecture for 4:00 PM, when she climbs in the driver’s seat. 

“Sorry, we’re probably not going to make it on the time you usually like to keep.” Ten minutes early, she means. And, after a look at my watch, I deduce she’s right. 

“Not your fault my father likes to hear himself talk.”

But maybe if I could do better, he wouldn’t feel the need to “talk” so much. 

+

Maisyn drives extra slow through the parking lot so I have ample time to look for Jae and a possible car. She said if anyone asks we’d blame it on the weather growing colder with each passing day but as it’s only late September, the weather is mild at worst.

Alas, most people (read: everyone except Jae) are intelligent enough to not question me to my face so I don’t think that will be an issue. Even if it was, it certainly wouldn’t be something topping my priority list. Jae hiding his intentions, however...

“I don’t see him.”

“No Jae Park out here,” Maisyn nods her confirmation, finally pulling into a parking spot between a shiny red Mercedes and a silver Volvo. “We circled this lot a good three times. I think if he was here, we definitely would’ve seen him by now.”

I return her nod, gathering my bags and trying to figure out what the hell that boy is up to. Would questioning him outright be worth revealing that I’m concerned enough to still be debating it a day later? Seems like another headache just waiting to happen. Maisyn’s advice would no doubt fall towards Jae’s faux-good intentions being true. And Sutton isn’t serious enough about anything to waste the time it would take to properly explain it all to her.

I’ll just have to solve this one on my own. God, imagine how much simpler my life would be had Jae Park never walked into it.


End file.
